


Master Burglar

by MordorIsCalling



Series: Bilbo Baggins's Greatest Burglary [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo Running Away From Fame, Crack, Happy Ending, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, POV Bilbo Baggins, Pining, Post-Battle of Five Armies, also lots of Bilbo's grouching, and oh boy let me tell you that idiot is so in love, bc the ridiculousness of dwarves may drive him insane, but they won't admit it ofc, it should be a tag honestly, so is Thorin - Freeform, there is also angst and some fluff, until they do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-09-23 16:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordorIsCalling/pseuds/MordorIsCalling
Summary: A wild thought: after the theft of the Arkenstone, Durin's Folk start regarding Bilbo astheMaster Burglar. They think his deed to be an unsurpassed achievement in the craft of burglary, and many of them take lively interest in Bilbo.Fortunately, it turns out that Thorin has a solution which may make all the ridiculousness a bit less bothersome.





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! <3 Hope everyone’s doing well :3 I've been working on this fic for the last two months and a half (I know, I'm slooow). At first I intened it to be a one-shot, around 5k words long, but well... I either do below 1,5k or jump straight to wayyy over 5k, there's nothing in between, apparently xD So yeah, this story is basically super self-indulgent, and I'm posting it here hoping that some of you may like it, too! (Please note that this work is un-beta'd, so if you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me).
> 
> Enjoy! :3

It’s quiet in the king's tent. Bilbo sits by Thorin's side as the dwarf lies on his cot with his eyes closed. It’s a day after the battle, and Bilbo hasn't had any sleep. He’s been watching over Thorin ever since the dwarf was taken from the battlefield.

Miraculously, the king and his sister-sons have made it through the night, although their lives are not decided yet. The lads have been asleep, both fighting a fever, and Bilbo worries about them, too. He wishes he could be in two places at once, in the king's and the princes' tents, yet Óin told him that Fíli and Kíli were more likely to pull through, so Bilbo has chosen to stay with Thorin. He's been watching Thorin's chest rise and fall for only Yavanna knows how long. Not missing any sign of change in the king's breathing is his priority now.

He knows Thorin isn’t asleep, but he does not talk to him. Thorin tried speaking to him earlier, about his deeds at the gate, and it resulted in Bilbo shushing him every time he tried. The Hobbit could see that speaking put a great strain on Thorin, so he more or less ordered the dwarf to be quiet. And so quiet he remains, and Bilbo rather enjoys the silence, only some faint sounds of the hustle and bustle outside reaching his ears. 

Then, out of the blue, the peace between them is disrupted. "WHERE IS HE!" The booming exclamation somewhere near the tent makes both the king and the hobbit start. "I say, where is he! I must see him on my very own eyes or else I refuse to believe it!" The voice is getting closer with each word. "I must see him now! Dwalin! Is he inside?"

A moment later, Dáin Ironfoot storms inside. His bright, burning eyes sweep over his surroundings until his gaze finds its mark. He freezes upon seeing Bilbo.

"Oh," the Lord of the Iron Hills breathes out, "so the rumours are true." He takes a few steps forward, his intense stare fixed on the hobbit. "Look at you, Master Burglar, how unassuming you seem! This must be the cleverest disguise of all."

Bilbo blinks incredulously, torn between feeling a bit flattered and quite offended. He looks at Thorin in search of any kind of explanation. He finds nothing but a mighty scowl on the king's face as he glares at Dáin.

"_Dear_ cousin," Thorin speaks up at last, the words coming out hoarse and chocked, "what... what are you harassing my Burglar about?"

There's a flash of pain in Dáin's eyes at seeing his king suffer so. His mouth sets in a thin line and he observes Thorin with concern, but after a moment, his demeanour changes, and some merriment seems to return to him. "Your Burglar?" the Lord repeats with a hint of teasing, his gaze darting between Thorin and Bilbo. "Your Burglar indeed, Thorin, you lucky sod! A burglar worth of any king!"

Bilbo's frown of utter disbelief deepens even more. He gets up from his seat and clears his throat uncomfortably, his fingers twitching with unease. "Forgive me my bluntness, master Dáin, but just what are you insinuating?"

Dáin smiles at the Hobbit unabashedly and steps even closer. "What I'm saying, Master Burglar, is that you've earned yourself the respect of Durin’s Folk. Some of us even admire you a great deal."

"_What?_" Bilbo blurts out, then clears his throat again. "How so, master Dáin?"

Dáin appears delighted at the opportunity to explain. "Well, who would even _dare_ to steal the Arkenstone from right under the King's nose if not the finest thief of all? Who would even begin to _think_ of such a thing, if not the boldest burglar in all of Middle Earth?"

The Lord of the Iron Hills stares at Bilbo with open wonder and the confused Hobbit just stands there, dumbfounded. He glances back at Thorin again and notices the King looking at him strangely, as if Bilbo was some kind of great treasure. Something in the hobbit's chest tugs painfully, making him a bit short of breath. He swallows and looks away quickly, realising just how unworthy of such a gaze he is. Giving himself a good mental shake, he turns his attention back to Dáin.

"I was led to believe that the... the theft was an unforgivable transgression," he says and it is Dáin now who is surprised.

"A _transgression_!" the Lord exclaims with angry disbelief, "who said so?!"

"Well, judging by Thorin's reaction-"

"I was gold-sick," Thorin cuts in quietly, but his grave voice is enough to silence both Dáin and Bilbo. "Don't take my actions of that time as... as any indication of what I would've done with my mind sane."

"And what would you have done?" Bilbo asks, before he can stop himself, "had you been sane?"

"In truth, I don't know" Thorin admits, his brow furrowed in thought, "nothing like this has occurred ever before."

"Aye!" Dáin chimes in enthusiastically, "no dwarf would ever have the gall to do what you did! You've done the unthinkable!" 

Bilbo scoffs and shakes head. "And I think what I've done deserves no praise, master Dáin." 

"No praise!" Dáin seems almost outraged. "No pr- By my beard! So you have received no compliments on your skill?" 

"I... No?" 

The Lord looks furious now. "Thorin!" he scowls at the king. "How come this has happened?" he demands. 

Thorin lets out a sigh. "Dáin... master Baggins has not left my side since the battle... but I'm not yet able to talk much." 

"I actually told Thorin to speak as little as possible," Bilbo adds hastily, "I don't want his wounds to reopen. We haven’t discussed anything "

Dáin stares at him again, and continues to stare for long enough to make Bilbo fidget uncomfortably. When he finally stops, he bursts out into a fit of booming laughter. “A fearless creature indeed!" he exclaims, "to boss a king about!”

Bilbo opens his mouth to protest, wishing to clarify that _it 's no bossing to care for a friend, thank you very much_, but Dáin claps him on the arm with so much force that it gives a good shake to Bilbo’s whole frame, making the Hobbit unsteady on his feet. “All right, Master Burglar, I shall leave my pig-headed cousin in your good care now!”

With that, Dáin bows and leaves the tent.

Bilbo has to sit down. As he does so, he blinks and shakes his head, wondering if he’s perhaps dreamed all that just happened. “Well, that was...” he utters and hears Thorin chuckle. He looks at the king, who now appears so very weary that Bilbo chides himself for exhausting Thorin with all the talking, even if it isn’t truly that much of his fault.

“Bilbo...” Thorin says then, apparently decided on exhausting himself into oblivion, “about my deeds at the gate-“

“No, Thorin, no, rest!” 

“I want us to discuss it-“

“And I really do _not_ wish to talk about it right now,” Bilbo replies, “Thorin, please, there will be time for it later, you must rest.”

“But your banishment-”

Those words manage to bring Bilbo’s thoughts to a grinding halt, causing whatever words he intended to say to die in his throat. “W-what about it?” he asks, his voice wavering a bit, despite his will. 

“Just know it’s revoked,” Thorin replies, “it shouldn’t have happened. None of it should’ve happened.”

Bilbo swallows thickly and gives a small nod, unable to meet Thorin’s gaze. “Yes, indeed.”

“You’ll always be welcome here.” Oh, Thorin’s voice is so soft and cautious as he says this, but the hobbit still doesn’t dare to look at him.

“Thank you,” Bilbo answers quietly. 

Tense silence lingers between them for some time, though not for too long because Óin enters the tent to check up on Thorin. The healer immediately ushers the hobbit out, telling him to get something to eat _finally_, especially that dinner is now being served. 

There’s little Bilbo wants more, truth be told, so he obliges readily. He doesn’t even make two steps out of the tent, however, when a growl stops him in his tracks.

"Going somewhere?" 

The Hobbit turns around and smiles at Dwalin, who keeps watch at the entrance of the tent, his usual glower present on his face.

"I’m just going to grab a plate for myself.” 

"Wait for me then," Dwalin says, "Bifur is about to take the watch. I'll go with you."

Bilbo frowns, wondering why on earth the warrior can't just join him later, but nods in agreement anyway. There’s no use in arguing with Dwalin, after all. They wait only a minute or two and then leave the king's tent secure under Bifur's careful guard. 

As they start making their way through the camp, Bilbo thinks to himself that it’s in fact the first time he's grateful for how intimidating Dwalin looks. His glare scares off anyone who would think of getting too close to them, and it seems that _every damned dwarf around_ is willing to do just that, for when they notice Bilbo, they all stop in their tracks and stare, whispering among themselves excitedly.

Bilbo wonders if Dwalin is a psychic. Perhaps he's foreseen this? Or perhaps not, because not even Gandalf himself (who remains nowhere to be seen, by the way) could predict how ridiculous Durin’s Folk may get, Bilbo thinks, trying not to buckle under the sheer weight of all the attention. He walks right after Dwalin and keeps his gaze averted, pretending and wishing that there isn’t, in fact, _a few dozen dwarves_ staring at him right now, but his sharp ears still catch all the voices nearby, and it so does not bode well that everyone sounds absolutely _thrilled_.

The walk to the dining area is not long, yet it’s a true torture, and Bilbo couldn’t be happier when him and Dwalin finally get their plates and make their way to the place where the Company usually dines, finding the ‘Ri brothers and Bofur there. They raise a cheer at the sight of the two, and clap Bilbo on the back as he sits between Dori and Nori. All of them exclaim “that’s our Burglar, that’s him!”, and Bilbo is so tired and sick of the ridiculousness of dwarves at that moment, even though their warm display of pride is rather nice, all things considered.

He enjoys a bit of peace, the circle of his friends around him sheltering him a bit from all the prying gazes. He eats his meal quietly, rarely chiming in the conversation, only talking in much detail about how Thorin fares. The chatter around him somehow fades into the background with time, and there‘s a strange emptiness in his head. The tiredness and lack of sleep of the last days really start having an effect on him and all he wishes to do is to lie down somewhere _remotely_ comfortable.

But then. _Oh then_.

Then a yell of “_Master Burglar!_” comes from somewhere behind him, and he already knows it’s Dáin. He groans under his breath and gets up to stand face to face with the Iron Hills Lord, who's approaching the hobbit at a fast pace. Before he knows it, Dáin whisks him away into a whirl of introductions. Bilbo meets high-ranking soldiers and respected warriors, even Dáin’s generals introduce himself to him. And so, there’s master Zahra and master Farí, then master Lyr, master Ranur and lady Hanna, after that there’s master Casir, master Tuv, master Déni and master Péni, and... many others, whose names Bilbo forgets, and his head is spinning from all the bowing and his throat is sore from all the talking at the end of it all.

The end of it comes _so very late. _Bilbo is _exhausted_. Which is why he actually uses his ring to sneak round the camp. He can’t take any more introductions. He can’t take anything at all that isn’t sleep. His whole body and mind ache for it. Which is why Bilbo lets out a bitter laugh when he realizes that he has nowhere to actually lie down and sleep. With a heavy sigh, he decides to retreat back to the king’s tent and takes off the ring the moment after entering.

Óin’s at Thorin’s side when he walks in. Bilbo hovers near the entrance uncertainly until the healer looks up.

“How is he?” the hobbit asks.

“He will be fine,” Óin answers with a grunt, “Thorin is a one stubborn sod. He’s lost lots of blood, and we must prevent his wounds from infecting, but the worst is behind him.”

Bilbo’s shoulders slump in relief, his whole body almost going limp as all the tension leaves him, and his head is spinning in joy. Or because of exhaustion. Either way, the hobbit has to take a step back in order to regain his balance, and his sorry state must show, for Óin immediately orders him to get some sleep. Bilbo just waves his hand dismissively and moves to take the seat at the King’s side. Óin lets him, but not without a disgruntled huff. Bilbo just manages a small, not-so apologetic smile before the healer exits the tent. Bilbo needs rest, as Óin himself said, and sitting down certainly counts as such. The fact that it’s Thorin’s side he wishes to sit by... Well. Someone has to watch over Thorin’s breathing, after all. 

Besides, Thorin’s side has felt like the place he belongs for quite some time now. It just seems so _right_, for reasons Bilbo does not comprehend. Or does not wish to.

Because... Thorin will have many pressing matters to attend to soon, will he not? Some silly Hobbit’s feelings aren’t so important. Thorin is the King of Durin's Folk now. He’s going to be so busy with the restoration of Erebor that Bilbo dreads to even think of it. He can bet Thorin will work himself to the ground sooner or later. Luckily, Bilbo will be there to tell him to eat and sleep, and Thorin _will listen_. He will listen because Bilbo _cares_, cares for him very much.

In truth, Bilbo cared for Thorin way too much. But _that_ mattered not.

Bilbo just wishes that thinking about it wouldn’t cause that painful tug in his heart. Entirely unnecessary, that thing.

All in all, adventures are a truly nasty business, he concludes. Might even get you into the troubles of the heart, and he _certainly_ did not sign up for anything like this.

Before long, his grim thinking ceases, and sleep finally claims him right there, as he sits on the uncomfortable wooden chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha, couldn't help myself, I had to put Farí and Zahra in here. (They're the dwarf OCs from my fic "All Hope Lost"). Also, making up dwarvish names is so fun! 
> 
> Don't worry guys, this fic is all written down and ready to go. Part II will be posted tomorrow, and part III will appear the day after tomorrow. :D
> 
> Anyway, please tell me what you think! ;)


	2. II

Bilbo wakes up with a violent start. Immediately, blood-chilling dread floods him like a wave. He _wasn’t watching, there was no one to see if-_

His frantic gaze lands on the King’s chest and now great relief spreads through him, for Thorin is breathing just fine. He sighs heavily and his gaze travels up to the dwarf’s face to check if the king is asleep. He freezes when Thorin’s unbearably blue eyes look right back at him. Bilbo holds Thorin’s gaze, trying not to lose his nerve, although it’s hard, and his hands fidget.

“Balin has told me that there is a celebrity at my side now,” Thorin rumbles, his eyes now twinkling with good humour.

Bilbo scoffs, the memories of yesterday’s foolishness filling him with embarrassment. “Pish! I have no wish to talk about _that_, thank you very much!”

Thorin chuckles. “I’m afraid it won’t get much better. The news must’ve spread by now.”

The Hobbit huffs. “And I so hope you’re not right.”

”You’ll see for yourself when you go out,” the King replies, and the mere suggestion of facing ridiculous dwarves makes Bilbo pout like a fauntling.

“Bilbo,” Thorin continues with a small smile, “I’m rather decided on surviving my injuries. You can go, Óin’s going to drop by soon anyway. You should eat. It’s early afternoon already, you must be hungry.” 

Bilbo’s eyes widen. “Oh dear me! How come I slept that long?! Why didn’t you wake me up?” 

“Why wouldn’t I let you sleep? You seemed exhausted.” 

A quiet “well” is all that Bilbo has to say, for he was exhausted indeed. Now he feels a bit better, although his body is awfully stiff and sore because of sleeping in the sitting position. He clears his throat and watches Thorin closely, looking for any signs of anything being wrong, or rather, anything being more wrong than the now-usual. (Thorin being half-dead, that is).

It’s clear that the king is in pain, but his breathing isn’t as laboured as it used to be even yesterday, and he's been speaking with more ease. Bilbo therefore decides that it’s safe to leave Thorin for a bit. He promises the dwarf that he'll check up on his nephews before returning.

Bilbo also really hopes that the dwarves’ excitement about his own person has died down already.

_Of course_ it turns out otherwise. Thorin was right; the moment Bilbo leaves the tent, the blasted whispers erupt all around him. Only a few moments more pass until a dwarf approaches him. He doesn't recognize the dwarf to be a warrioress, dwarven females looking so alike to males to an outsider’s eye, and he finds out that he’s been approached by one only when she introduces herself as lady Gêr. She offers her services to Bilbo and compliments Bilbo’s theft. After that, Gêr asks if she can accompany him whenever he wishes to go today, and _preens_ when Bilbo agrees. (Agrees meaning blurts out a startled “yes” and regrets it after seeing Gêr’s reaction). 

Bilbo tells the red-haired lady that he’s heading to the dining area, so they make their way there. When they reach the field kitchen, Bombur cheers at the sight of him, and produces a plate full of food seemingly out of nowhere, handing it to Bilbo with a wink.

Billbo is so overcome with gratitude he almost weeps.

Gêr invites him to sit and eat with her friends, and Bilbo is too polite (too polite for his own good, honestly) to decline, so lady Gêr he follows. They sit down by the fire among four other dwarves. Bilbo greets them politely, which causes their eyes to almost bulge out of their skulls comically. While the hobbit tries to eat, ignoring their astonishment, he sees Gêr smiling with mad pride in the corner of his eye. She nods and says, “yes, that’s Master Burglar himself”. Her friends all gasp and can’t quite form any coherent sentences just yet, which allows Bilbo to finish his meal, rather hastily, as he's very much hungry. When he’s done, Gêr decides to ask him a few questions. Her friends finally find their tongues in their mouths quickly after that, following with inquiries of their own.

The five dwarves listen to Bilbo with bated breath as he relates the Quest to them and soon, other dwarves surround him, including Glóin, for which Bilbo is immensely thankful. Having trusted faces around gives him courage; he can’t quite find the confidence to deal with _that_ eager of a crowd on his own. The Iron Hills dwarves ask him how does the Arkenstone look like and how did he steal it. When he says he retrieved it from under Smaug’s nose, some of his listeners almost _lose their minds_. They go absolutely mad, questioning trueness of his claims, and when Glóin is there to defend his honour, the dwarves suddenly raise a loud cheer for him, and everybody wants to be introduced to him and pledge their services to him _again_. 

It's all _insane_ and Bilbo is quite done with all the noise after a short time, so he asks Glóin if he could perhaps escort him to the princes’ tent. The formidable warrior agrees, and the Hobbit couldn’t be more grateful. Whispers and gazes follow them as they walk through the camp, which makes Bilbo long for peace and quiet, yet when he finally enters the tent and sees the lads, lying there, motionless under the furs, the silence is deafening.

He sits on the stool between the two cots and murmurs, “Oh my poor lads.”

He feels their foreheads and hisses when their skin turns out to be feverishly hot. He takes the cloths from their foreheads and wets them, then puts them back. After doing so he sits down again, not knowing what to do with himself. He would be so grateful for some noise now. The sound of Fíli’s and Kíli’s voices would be very dear to his ears. Their chatter and banter would gladden his heart like nothing more but the princes remain silent. He sighs heavily and sits by their side for some time, watching them breathe.

“You are fine boys,” he says to them at some point, “you will heal.”

No answer again, and he feels something tighten in his throat.

Just then he hears someone enter the tent, and he gives the healer quite a shock when he turns around, causing the poor dwarf (who appears rather young) to almost drop the bandages he’s carrying. He stares at Bilbo with his mouth hanging open.

Bilbo clears his throat. “Oh, forgive me, Master Dwarf,” he says, “I did not mean to startle you.” He laughs awkwardly.

“M-master B-burglar,” the dwarf stammers in response.

“Oh, I see you’ve come to change the princes’ bandages!” Bilbo exclaims cheerfully, “well then, I’ll leave you to it! Good day!”

He leaves hastily and thanks Yavanna that Thorin’s tent is next to the one he’s just left, so the walk ahead of him isn’t long at all. He laments the fact that he can’t really use his ring this time, but he makes up for it by jogging to the king’s tent and trying to appear as grim as possible, hoping that others would take it as a sign of him having some important business to attend to.

It actually works out. His strategy didn’t stop the staring, nor the whispering. Those happened anyway, even though he was outside for less than a minute, but still, he’s so very glad to have been left alone that he breathes a great sigh of relief when he steps into Thorin’s tent. He turns to Thorin and notices that the dwarf looking at him questioningly. Bilbo just shakes his head and sits by the king’s side with a huff.

“So, Master Burglar,” Thorin says cheerfully, “you’re not finding a celebrity’s life particularly appealing, I take it?”

Bilbo looks at Thorin sharply, the amusement in the dwarf’s tone triggering his irritation.

Because. Well. It’s Thorin.

Thorin, to whom he comes to seek shelter and guidance, as he always has, as _everyone_ has, because if there’s any natural leader in this Eru-forsaken world then it’s Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin Oakenshiled, who now _jokes_ about Bilbo’s misery, and it absolutely _sets Bilbo off_. 

“You!” He directs his pointing finger at the king. “Don’t you tease me, don’t you even dare! You all ridiculous dwarves, making a hero out of me! _A hero!_ _Me!_ Me, who stole from you, who betrayed you, who–” he stops, realizing that he’s been shouting. He stares at Thorin, breathing heavily, completely unsure of what he should even say next.

The king’s expression is sober now, any traces of amusement gone. “Aye, I was hurt by that,” he admits, “and even now it angers me, my foolish pride being hurt most of all.” He smiles wryly. “And yet, my reaction at the gate is inexcusable.”

“You were goldsick-“ Bilbo tries to add.

“No,” Thorin cuts in, “even in madness, I shouldn’t even think of doing you any harm. I shouldn’t have put you in danger, and I shouldn’t have put anyone of my kin in danger with my actions. It’s my task as the king to protect my people, and all I did was to seek petty war. For all of that, I apologize. Bilbo... the very thought that you could..." Thorin's voice is so full of emotion now that it wavers, "_die_... of my own hand... I... I can’t stand it. All I ask you is to consider forgiveness.”

Bilbo swallows and nods jerkily. “Thank you. I... I am sorry, too. Truly. All I wanted was peace, I never wished for things to turn this ugly.”

“I know,” Thorin replies hoarsely and reaches out for him, but perhaps just because the movement of his hand is too haste, Bilbo flinches away slightly. The king’s face falls. “You’re afraid of me,” he utters softly.

“No!” Bilbo shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been afraid of you... I just... Well. I think we need... time. To learn to trust each other again.”

“We need time indeed,” Thorin answers, and as Bilbo looks at him, the bitterness in the dwarf’s gaze is exactly what the hobbit feels in his heart. He swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and gets up, leaving the tent without mustering another word.

Bilbo slips the ring on his finger the moment before standing outside. The thought of having to deal with Durin’s Folk at this moment makes him shudder. He chooses to go to where he’s sure not to encounter any dwarf - the elves’ camp. Once he’s there, he takes the ring off and wanders between the tall beautiful creatures. Some of them give him baffled glances, which he takes as chances for starting a conversation, and he inquires about Gandalf’s whereabouts. The elegant brows are raised even higher every time he asks that question, and each elf answers with saying that they haven’t seen the wizard since the Battle. One royal guard even claims that Mithrandir is off on some wizardry business. Bilbo thanks him politely for the information and then storms away not-so-politely.

“That damned wizard,” he grumbles under his breath, “maybe _he_ could save me from those dwarves, but _no_, of course not, he’s off just when I need him!” 

He then thinks about how he misses hot baths, tea, a good smoke and having more meals, and generally throws himself quite a pretty pity party in his head. After some more of aimless wandering through the elven camp, he decides to come back to the dwarven area. He has to learn to face all the ridiculousness anyway, if Gandalf isn’t here to help him.

He could use his ring every time when moving around, but the thought makes him uneasy. Invisibility comes at the cost of being in the world of shadows and menacing darkness, and he certainly doesn’t feel like spending much time in there.

Therefore, it seems that he has to learn how to handle mannerless dwarves. It should come with practice, he thinks.

Unfortunately, in order to gain practice you actually need to _start_, and Bilbo isn’t particularly keen on that idea. He resists the temptation to put the ring on, however, and marches back to where he came from. Surprisingly, he doesn’t see much commotion in the camp as he approaches and then it dawns on him that it’s now, in fact, dinner time, so most of the dwarves are now eating in the dining area.

He heaves a great sigh of relief and starts heading towards the King’s tent, since some apologies for his rudeness earlier are in order. 

It’s then that his luck runs out. He hears someone call his name. The Hobbit turns to the where the call came from and sees master Farí approaching him briskly. When the blond general stands before him, he bows and flashes Bilbo a bright smile.

“Master Baggins,” he says, “I thought that maybe you’d like to join me, Dáin and Zahra and eat dinner with us by the fire?”

Bilbo is tempted, definitely. He hasn’t eaten much today, yet he knows what eating with the three tonight will end up like. Like _another dozens of dwarves_ wanting to meet him.

Maybe he should start his practising tomorrow. He’s still tired after the Battle anyway.

“I’m afraid I must decline, master Farí,” he answers, “I...I have a message for the king that I’m to deliver as soon as possible,” he lies with an apologetic smile, hoping that he’s convincing enough.

Farí looks rather disappointed but at least doesn’t seem to have detected Bilbo’s little deceit. “All right then,” the dwarf replies, “but perhaps you’d allow me to walk you to the king’s tent?”

Bilbo blinks in surprise. Farí’s company doesn’t seem so bad, so he agrees.

They begin making their way between the tents side by side. Farí politely inquires about the King’s and the Princes’ health, and from there they have a rather light conversation. Farí’s merry attitude and cheerful remarks improve the Hobbit’s mood a bit, and at the end of their, admittedly quite short, walk, he concludes that Farí is a pleasant sort with _actual manners_. Maybe there’s some good out of meeting so many dwarves, you finally have to come across someone sensible enough. 

Bilbo and Farí bid each other good night and part ways. The hobbit has to brace himself before entering the tent, taking a deep breath. All the air leaves him as he walks in, however, for there, right across the tent’s entrance and next to Thorin’s cot, stands a new cot with furs laid on it, ready for someone to sleep on. Bilbo gapes at it rather inelegantly, wondering who on earth is to sleep in the king’s tent?

Perhaps there _is_ someone Thorin would want in here.

That painful tug in his chest makes him breathless again, and he swallows thickly. Well then. He should leave.

“I’ve had this brought in here for you,” Thorin says finally, in lieu of greeting, “you need somewhere to sleep.”

The Hobbit nods in agreement, as the statement is true enough, but then he realizes just how improper this arrangement must be. He turns to face Thorin fully, about to protest.

And oh, Thorin must be so very tired now, the hobbit thinks, for the dwarf looks at him with a smile somehow dreamy, and his gaze gives the impression that the king likes what he is looking at very much. He must be so very close to falling asleep.

“My Burglar,” the Thorin rumbles just then, his gaze so warm and his deep voice enveloping Bilbo like a blanket, “stay with me.”

So Bilbo stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think! <3


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here we go, the last, concluding chapter! This part is a bit longer that the two previous ones, hope it won't bore you too much!

After he wakes up and Thorin’s voice greets him with a quiet “good morning, Bilbo” the moment the hobbit stirs between the furs, Bilbo thinks to himself that it’s a rather good idea to stay in the king’s tent for longer. Much longer.

He moves to sit by Thorin’s cot after getting up and asks the king if there’s perhaps anything that he could help him with. Thorin answers that indeed, he’s in need of someone that would check up on his sister-sons, as no one has updated him on the state of their wellbeing in a few hours and he’s growing worried.

Obviously, Bilbo’s enthusiasm falters considerably, but he pledges to fulfil the task, although he emphasises that he refuses to explain his choice of using the ring. Thorin’s quiet chuckle is the last thing he hears before entering the shadowy world of invisibility, and the lovely sound warms him to his very heart. The darkness that his ring takes him to isn’t that threatening this time.

Bilbo goes about his mission quickly and returns to Thorin in no time, bearing some good news – the lad’s fever has lessened a bit. 

Later that day, the hobbit pays the princes a visit once again, and he’s more than overjoyed to find that their fever has broken. Fíli even opens his eyes once and smiles at Bilbo before drifting back to sleep.

Thorin’s grin is blinding when he finds out.

And so, a week passes like this, with Bilbo mostly hiding in the king’s tent, and checking up on Fíli and Kíli at least twice day. His new routine also involves asking Dwalin nicely if he would perhaps be so kind as to have someone fetch Bilbo a plate for breakfast or dinner, as the hobbit can’t go by himself. The king cannot be left alone, after all. The warrior just rolls his eyes and sigs irritably at each request but is very kind every time. 

Sometimes Bifur or Dori stand on guard, but they’re kind souls in themselves. They have food brought for Bilbo without him asking, even though there may be perhaps some traces of teasing smirks on their faces as they hand him his meals.

Bilbo doesn’t care. Much anyway. 

Obviously, this strategy of survival wouldn’t work out for long. After a few days, the members of the Company start complaining about not seeing the hobbit around whenever any of them drops by Thorin’s tent, and Bilbo himself feels strange about not talking to any of his friends for so long when they’re so close by, however lovely his time with Thorin is.

And lovely it is indeed.

They share many a conversation and as many quiet moments, since Thorin still needs a lot of rest, even if he’s rather unwilling to do so. He seems more concerned about Bilbo’s wellbeing that his own for some reason, because he orders Bilbo to sleep or lie down way more often than it’s sensible. Bilbo doesn’t listen to him in most cases, and they banter about the stuborness of hobbits quite a lot, but it’s all done in good humour. In the middle of all this, Balin walks in and out of the tent the whole day, executing Thorin’s decisions and giving reports about the restoration of Erebor that is already on-going. Dáin is a frequent guest as well, and he and Thorin discuss many matters concerning resources for the upcoming months, what should be done in the Mountain and ways of going about it.

Bilbo lingers in the tent during all those talks, feeling more awkward than anything else, although sometimes he chimes in and shares his views about this and that, especially when it comes to storing and managing food.

It makes his heart flutter how Thorin always listens attentively to whatever he has to say and then takes his opinions into account when making a decision.

There are many things about Thorin that make his heart flutter, to be honest, but he’d rather not think about it. It’s enough that Thorin has remained his friend. 

Bilbo counts Thorin as one of his dear friends, however, and there are some things that you’d do for a dear friend and not just for anyone. Those certain things may also be a source of a special kind of satisfaction, and after feeling the pleasure of caring about someone dear, Bilbo’s eager to tend to Thorin as much as he can. He’s even learned how to clean his wounds and change his bandages, after having been instructed and supervised by Óin a few times. The healer was pleased to have some help anyway. There are many wounded who need help, and not nearly enough healers to care for them. 

That’s why Óin doesn’t drop by that often anymore (thrice a day at most) and Bilbo is the king’s primary caretaker now. Thank Yavanaa Thorin is an easy enough patient, and lets Bilbo change his bandages and tend to his wounds only with a grunt or two. Sometimes some grumbles about “not wanting Bilbo to see him like this” are involved, but the only thing that the hobbit has to do is to put his finger on Thorin’s mouth. It’s proven immensely effective in keeping the dwarf quiet, although it also makes him stare at Bilbo, and then stare some more, with his eyes being so awfully blue that Bilbo cannot really stomach looking at it. It’s indeed fortunate he can busy himself with the wounds instead. 

Thorin tends to stare at him an awful lot, actually, and Bilbo just needs a break from those maddening eyes sometimes. The king’s gaze makes Bilbo blush too much, and the hobbit doesn’t feel like explaining to the dwarf why his cheeks are so flushed. Thorin asked him if he had a fever once already, and it was stressful enough to talk his way out of it, thank you very much.

Thus, he finds himself putting the ring on and visiting the princes perhaps a bit more often than it’s strictly necessary. Their health is improving slowly but steadily, and the three of them always joke, banter and make merry as much as the lads are able to. Fíli and Kíli even start calling him Auntie at some point “because he frets so much”. They also beg him to stay in Erebor permanently and Bilbo really doesn’t know what to say.

He can’t deny he’s homesick at times. He misses Bag End and all the comforts it provided. He misses some reasonable hobbits, too.

And yet.

The thought of coming back to his smial, all quiet and empty, doesn’t make him all too willing to return at all. He’s grown close to each member of the Company during their journey, and the companionship they all share is something that the Shire cannot give him. He longs for the shared nights spent by the fire. He’s got too used to the singing and the teasing and just making merry with the sense of togetherness.

So, naturally, there finally comes a time when Bilbo starts going out more, either to eat meals with his dwarves or to help them around. After the first escapade out of his and Thorin’s little tent-shaped paradise, the hobbit is rather cross to find that his popularity still hasn’t ceased. _Oh no_, it turns out that Durin’s Folk find a recluse wannabe as fascinating as the rarest of riches. The damned whispers always follow him, everywhere he goes, and he can’t wander around the camp alone for longer than five minutes before he’s approached by someone. He refrains from using the ring at all, however. He’s aware that there won’t be any running away from this. After all, he’s a Baggins (although not a proper one any longer), and Bagginses always manage, even if they grumble about it. 

After a day or two of endless introductions, which results in him basically _meeting every dwarf able to stand_, some dwarves he’s met tend to stick around, accompanying him when he runs his errands and lending a helping hand as well, while others just stare at him from afar.

Many of his newest acquaintances are those dwarves who want to share or trade knowledge about some common subject. Lady Hanna, for example, seems to have an interest in farming. Master Lyr and lady Gêr wish to improve their cooking, so they’re often in Bilbo’s and Bombur’s company. Then there are also dwarves who are curious about Hobbits in general, such as master Alla or master Inó. Finally, there’re a few who seem to be interested in Bilbo himself, and, much to the Hobbit’s dismay, decide to become Bilbo’s shadows. Even though some of them are a pleasant company indeed, like master Farí, others just linger about awkwardly, asking way too many _too personal_ questions.

If that isn’t enough to put Bilbo through quite some misery, after a few days some dwarves get even _bolder_.

Gift-giving begins.

At first, it’s beyond ridiculous. Dwarves present him with things like _shields_ or _axes_. The very thought! What use would he have of such things? So he turns the gifts down, and tries not to think too much about the disappointed looks the dwarves give him.

It takes some time until anyone comes up with anything not weapon-related.

Finally, Master Déni, with whom Bilbo hasn’t had much conversation at all, gifts the hobbit with a lovely hairpin, claiming that it belonged to his mother but he wishes to give it to Bilbo. The hobbit is honoured and delighted in equal measure. He thanks Déni heartily, hoping his gratefulness shows in his smile. It seems it does, for the dwarf beams back at him.

Bilbo makes use of the pin immediately, and it’s such a relief that those few stubborn strands of his hair that refused to stay tucked behind his ear aren’t falling into his eyes anymore. He marches to the king’s tent happily, as it’s time to check up on Thorin. He walks in and sets to work immediately, only greeting the dwarf with a smile. He feels Thorin’s eyes on him all the time as tends to every wound, noting that Thorin’s state is indeed improving.

He finds it hard to believe at times, that all three heirs of Durin have made it, grave as their injuries really were.

There’s nothing left but to thank Yavanna for this, he concludes, and he tucks Thorin under the furs after the check-up. The dwarf hasn’t ceased looking at Bilbo strangely, so the hobbit raises his eyebrows at him in question.

“Where did you get this pin from?” Thorin asks. 

“I...” The hobbit blinks, wondering why on earth the dwarf is staring at him with such intensity. “It was given to me.”

Oh, there are definitely some sparks of anger dancing in Thotin’s eyes now. “By whom?” he demands.

“Master Déni,” the hobbit replies, baffled at the king’s reaction, “he said it belonged to his mother-”

“He said _what?_” Thorin snaps, a mighty scowl forming on his face.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Bilbo asks uncertainly, still having no clue what Thorin is on about.

“It’s rather forward,” Thorin answers, his expression growing only more thunderous, “to give someone a family heirloom.”

“Well, he meant that as a token of friendship, surely-”

“Stay away from him,” Thorin all but growls, “don’t get too acquainted with that lot, their intentions-“

“I’ll ask you not to tell me who I can or cannot make friends with!” Bilbo raises his voice, anger flaring in him, “master Déni’s been perfectly pleasant and polite, as many others have been!”

“Oh,” the king says with such quiet venom that it’s just ugly, “so there are others?”

“_Yes_,” Bilbo spits, his voice now lowered dangerously, “some dwarves actually seem genuinely interested in me and don’t immediately dismiss me as _looking like a grocer, _you know?”

“Indeed.” Thorin clenches his jaw and doesn’t look at Bilbo at all, apparently decided on sulking from now on.

At this point Bilbo simply _cannot believe_ that dwarf. He points an accusing finger at the king. “You cannot order me anything, Thorin Oakenshield! I’ll befriend whoever I please and you will have _no_ say in this!”

“Don’t I know it,” Thorin mutters under his breath, quietly enough that he perhaps thought that Bilbo wouldn’t hear it, but a hobbit’s keen hearing should never be underestimated. Bilbo has to bite his tongue in order not to blurt out anything silly. He storms out of the tent and vows to himself right then that he will not return until _very_ late.

He keeps his word, for after helping Ori around with this and that, he gets an invitation from master Zahra to eat dinner with him, Farí and Dáin. Bilbo gladly accepts to join the three this time. They’re a welcome company, even if Dáin may be a bit overbearing in his enthusiasm for whatever spikes his special interest, and Bilbo is _of course_ unfortunate enough to be his current object of admiration.

Thankfully, Farí is there, his cheerful and steady presence making up for whatever Dáin puts Bilbo through. Especially that Zahra is with them, too, and he’s one of the few knowing Dáin for long enough (and having enough backbone as well) to keep the fiery-tempered Lord in check. 

And so, they pass the time merrily, and Bilbo doesn’t come back to the king’s tent until well into the night. He walks in being sure that Thorin’s asleep, not even looking in his direction, which is why he almost jumps up in surprise when he hears the dwarf’s voice. 

“Bilbo.” 

Bilbo turns to Thorin with his hands on his hips. “Yes?”

The dwarf looks like he hesitates about what to say. “Go to sleep,” he replies finally.

The hobbit huffs and shakes his head but does as he’s told, as much as it displeases him. He lies down without another word and tosses between the furs for quite some time until he falls asleep.

The next day is rather awkward, to say the least. They avoid looking each other in the eye, and Bilbo can’t really stand sitting in the tent now. For the next three days or so, apart from the times he has to tend to Thorin’s injuries, he finds himself volunteering in the field kitchen or staying with Fíli and Kíli.

Working with the cooks turns out to be truly interesting, to the point of being purely entertaining. Handing out meals to the dwarves is definitely the best part. Most of them are so in rush because of all the work that needs to be done that they don’t even look up at who passed them their plate. When they do look up, however, their reactions are hilarious. Some of them freeze in shock, others almost drop their plates in surprise, and a few seem so overjoyed that they’re smiling as if it was Yule.

Bilbo thinks it all too amusing.

The fact that gift-giving hasn’t stopped isn’t so funny. Bilbo finds himself in the possession of quite some more pieces of jewellery: rings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches. He has no idea what to do with them, but accepts them anyway, since they’re not as bothersome as weaponry. He just makes sure to store them where Thorin can’t see them.

Thankfully, as the day of everyone moving into the Mountain draws near, that folly finally ceases, everyone being preoccupied with work too much.

With all the dead buried and the enemies’ bodies burnt, negotiations with Bard and Thranduil begin, too. The Front Gate has been fixed as well, therefore the preparations for relocating their camp are in full sing. Thorin receives guests almost all day, and Bilbo finds himself just as busy. He tends to Thorin as quickly as possible, then returning to his own duties (which include helping around with whatever that he's able to do, cooking and saving Fíli and Kíli from dying of boredom). 

A few eventful days pass, and at some point Bilbo and Thorin are just too busy to be angry with each other.

It’s after another day like this that Bilbo enters the king’s tent in the evening to retire and sees Bofur and Nori by Thorin's side. Thorin is actually sitting up now, popped up against some provisory pillows, and spots the hobbit immediately.

"Bilbo!" the king greets him with a smile, "I almost thought you’d not come! What took you so long?" 

Before the hobbit can he give any answer, Bofur speaks up. “Bet he was busy chasing off all the suitors he now gets!" 

Bilbo sputters. "_Excuse me? _Th-there are_ no_ s-suitors!" 

Nori smirks. "There may not be... yet. But there's some talk about you _stealing hearts_, that's for sure!" 

Bilbo feels himself blush to the tips of his ears, which makes Bofur and Nori cackle wildly. 

“STOP!” Thorin snaps at them, “you’re making Bilbo uncomfortable! I’d like to see how you two would enjoy being talked about this way, if you were in his position.” 

Bofur and Nori have enough decency to look ashamed, at least. They murmur their apologies and shuffle out of the tent quickly with their eyes averted.

Bilbo and Thorin share _a look_ after the two walk out. The hobbit rolls his eyes and the dwarf chuckles. 

Bilbo sits down by the king’s side, his brow furrowed in thought. "Surely something about this can be done that can be done?" He notices Thorin looking at him questioningly. “About this whole _enthusiasm_ about my person,” he clarifies.

Thorin lets out a long sigh. "Aye,” he answers cautiously, “there's one solution that comes to my mind, although... I don't think you'd welcome it."

"Thorin, please, _anything_, just put a stop to this folly! _I beg you_."

Thorin still looks somehow unsure. "Bilbo..." he says, and swallows, as if nervously. "Answer me this and be honest. I need you to tell me if... will I always have your friendship, no matter what happens?"

"Why, Thorin, I don't think there's a test to a friendship harsher than what we've been through!” Bilbo exclaims with slight disbelief. "Of course,” he adds, more softly, “I'll always be your friend."

"I'm glad," the king replies.

Bilbo waits for the dwarf to continue, but Thorin says no more. "So?” Bilbo has to prompt, “what’s the idea that you have in mind?"

Thorin looks at him then, really looks at him, with such an open and vulnerable gaze that Bilbo wants to _weep_.

"My idea is to make you the king's burglar... in every way possible."

Bilbo frowns, not understanding at all, but then Thorin slowly takes one of his hands and brings it to his mouth. His eyes close and his face is a picture of tenderness as he lays a kiss on Bilbo's palm, making the hobbit’s mind go blank.

Oh.

_Oh._

"Oh, _Thorin_," Bilbo chokes out, not trusting himself to say anything more.

The King looks into his eyes again, and his gaze is so full of affection that Bilbo's poor old heart cannot really take it. He laughs wetly and his trembling hand, the one not held by the King, rests upon Thorin's cheek, and the dwarf leans into the touch with a sigh. Bilbo caresses Thorin’s beard with his thumb and then shifts closer, and closer still, until he can lean his forehead against Thorin's.

"I will follow you everywhere you lead," he whispers and hears Thorin chuckle.

"I need you by my side to know if I'm leading anywhere sensible," Thorin rumbles back, nudging his nose against Bilbo's tenderly, "and sometimes it would be even better for you to take the lead... as my consort."

Bilbo straightens up abruptly, staring at the king with wide eyes. “O-oh dear, that’s... that’s quite a lot,” the hobbit babbles, shocked so much that his brain refuses to cooperate fully, “w-well we must court properly first! And even then... I don’t think... A consort who’s not a dwarf? Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Thorin answers, and he says it with such certainty that Bilbo’s heart swells. As he looks into those blue, blue eyes, he thinks to himself that if Thorin Oakenshield believes in him so, then he can have the world at his feet. The whole Middle Earth, as long as he has this dwarf with him. _His dwarf_.   
  
"You have nothing to fear, Master Burglar," Thorin says then, "for I’m certain that every dwarf of Erebor will find themselves in a predicament exactly like mine.”

“What?” Bilbo blinks. “What predicament?”

Thorin’s smirk is downright devilish. “I’m afraid that you’ve stolen my heart.” 

Bilbo groans in sheer frustration, hiding his face in his hands. 

Thorin laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, have you enjoyed this story? :D


End file.
